


almost made it through a year of choking down my fears

by paopuleaf



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Florida, Gen, Lost In A Target (emotion), Panic Attacks, assorted mentions of crabs and leal, kennedy loser orange stick, mentions of the towson circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopuleaf/pseuds/paopuleaf
Summary: there’s a weird feeling to being in the beverage mixing aisle of a supertarget, kennedy thinks, hand hovering over a box of hot chocolate mix while he lightly taps the basket against his leg. maybe it’s just the supertarget. there’s nobody around on a tuesday night, and he likes it that way - except his brain feels like it’s going fifty-miles-an-hour and also crashing directly headfirst into the towson circle and there’s absolutely no noise to distract him but the shitty coldplay playing over the speakers.dark chocolate hot chocolate mix is awful. he moves his hand over one slot near unconsciously and grabs the mini marshmallow box instead.-(a fic about being Lost In A Target, finding a friend on another team, and disassociating in the beverage aisle, in not exactly that order.)
Relationships: Kennedy Loser & Randy Dennis
Kudos: 20





	almost made it through a year of choking down my fears

**Author's Note:**

> randy dennis uses they/them  
> kennedy loser uses he/him
> 
> my interpretation of randy dennis is that they're a longsuffering cobb employee who put together cool standees until cool standees stopped being made, died, and ended up haunting their movie theatre until Blaseball, or more specifically, a coral springs movie theatre ghost !

there’s a weird feeling to being in the beverage mixing aisle of a supertarget, kennedy thinks, hand hovering over a box of hot chocolate mix while he lightly taps the basket against his leg. maybe it’s just the supertarget. there’s nobody around on a tuesday night, and he likes it that way - except his brain feels like it’s going fifty-miles-an-hour and also crashing directly headfirst into the towson circle and there’s absolutely _no_ noise to distract him but the shitty coldplay playing over the speakers. 

dark chocolate hot chocolate mix is awful. he moves his hand over one slot near unconsciously and grabs the mini marshmallow box instead.

a very tiny part of his brain that maybe takes up fifty percent of his thought process wishes that someone would - _call_ him, or something. give him something to focus on, a voice to hear. maybe it’s not okay to wish your friends - friends, team, _friends_ \- were feeling shitty so you could feel better. selfish. hm. kennedy thinks he might be allowed to be a little selfish. he puts another box of hot chocolate mix into the basket.

should he grab some tea for the others? who drinks tea- evelton likes it, to look more evil, and forrest might, luis - no, luis doesn’t drink - not bevan, bevan likes coffee, silvaire? maybe. he thinks he knew these things at some point but his brain is hiding the information away and he doesn’t have the energy to dive after it. god. fuck. “i’m so tired,” he mumbles. just loud enough to remind himself he still exists.

shoves another box of hot chocolate in. grabs a few bags of tea. did they need a restock of folger’s? probably. he grabs that too. coffee grounds don’t go bad. probably. do they? kennedy loser fishes out his phone - god, why does this feel so important - and looks it up. _the truth is, this age-old question is a loaded one - with many different answers and complexities. the answer is truly dependent upon the circumstance, situation, storage, and a whole host of other factors._

christ. kennedy squints at the screen for a moment before shoving his phone away. it probably doesn’t go bad. he puts two containers into the basket, and it feels a little too heavy now - but he’s not taking anything out anytime soon.

_it’s time to go_ , the fourth coldplay song of the night reminds him, and he shuffles out of the aisle and heads towards self-checkout feeling completely and utterly detached from himself. there’s something he was supposed to do tonight. was it the supertarget? he didn’t make a list. maybe he forgot something. 

get out of the supertarget. first priority. get out, go home, don’t crash headfirst into the towson circle literally _or_ metaphorically.

pause.

the aisles are different. 

kennedy looks around - the beverage aisle is behind him, but it’s in a completely different spot relative to the rest of the store, and they’re selling _swimsuits,_ now, it’s fucking _autumn -_

“hey- hello? could you help me please?” the employee looks at him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach their eyes, and he can’t blame them at all. “uh- where is this target located? address-wise, i mean?”

“uh, harden,” they inform. that is _not_ the address in which kennedy loser entered the supertarget. something in his eyes must betray something, because they point him towards self-checkout, giving him directions that are just vague enough to chance getting lost on the way there. he thanks them anyway. how well does anyone know their target, anyway.

self-checkout is fine. he swipes his items across the scanner with all the roboticness of ollie and thinks about the key digging into his skin from his too-thin shorts pocket. home. first priority. get home. 

there’s no reception in the target - there really never is - so kennedy leaves quickly, doesn’t spare a glance for the pizza place attached. checks his phone again. two bars - that’s enough, right? checks gloogle maps. harden has to be somewhere relative to maryland, right? 

pause.

refreshes maps once, twice, three times.

“how in debrah’s name did i end up in _florida_?”

his legs walk him to the side of the store, just out of any of the streetlights. his fingers set the bags gently down against the wall. somewhere along the way, his body sinks down against the concrete, twists his fingers in his hair, and lets him panic.

somewhere between one ragged intake of breath and the painstakingly long moment until the next, a fuzzy figure appears in front of him, a broom tucked under one arm and another hand held out just above his shoulder. “are you, uh, okay, sir?”

“please don’t call me sir,” he wheezes, or maybe he doesn’t. he can’t really tell. 

“okay, i won’t. can you, uh, follow my breathing?”

kennedy lifts his head up, watching as they carefully inhale/exhale, broom set down in favor of echoing the breaths with hand motions. it’s soothing, he thinks, and he finds himself mimicking it, breath hitching every once in a while. his face feels sticky, and his wrists are numb, and huh, he can actually feel things. “thank- thanks,” he manages. 

“no problem. kennedy… loser, right?” the figure shifts from their crouching position to sit down fully, and kennedy looks at them, _really_ looks. a dale player, he realizes - randy dennis, batter. ghost. plays catcher on games dogwalker’s pitching, always has the stickers on their fingers because they’re too incorporeal for most signs to be visible on their own. 

he shuffles that all away for later and offers a hand. “yeah, that’s me. you’re randy dennis, right? nice to meet you- kind of offically, that is.”

“yeah! likewise.” randy offers a grin, shaking his hand before rubbing at their eyes. “you’re- you don’t have a game tomorrow here or anything, right? aren’t we on siesta?”

“pretty sure,” kennedy says, slumping back. “i went into the… into the supertarget in baltimore, and somehow kind of ended up here.”

“oh.”

randy fiddles with a piece of grass sticking out of the sidewalk, glancing from kennedy to the target and then _up,_ at something. “yeah, uh, that’s kind of common, here. Lost In A Target. were you disassociating in there, or something?”

“nail on the head.”

they nod, perfectly understanding. “it happens. do you wanna stay the night at me ‘n leal’s place and head back tomorrow? we’ve got a kinda comfy couch.”

“yeah, i-” kennedy pauses, opens and closes his mouth until he finds the words, “yeah. that- i- appreciated.”

randy floats to a standing position, shimmies their broom just right to pick up kennedy’s bags. “you need a hand getting up?”

“i’ve got it, thanks.”

a nod. “don’t worry about- talking, or whatever. it’s rough. we can just vibe, y’know?”

so kennedy loser doesn’t worry about talking. he blinks, and lets his brain wander, randy quietly guiding him as they walk.

his face feels weird from crying. his wrists are numb. 

he feels more present then he has in a week.

the apartment they end up at is a part of a complex of four, on the edge of a plaza. randy unlocks the upstairs one to the right and ushers him in, closing the door behind them with a soft click and setting the bags down next to the shoes. it reminds kennedy of brock and tosser’s place, a little, if brock and tosser’s place was in florida and stopped smelling like weed.

“you can go ahead and crash on the couch, ‘kay? i’ll let leal know. get some rest. getting Lost In A Target is rough.” randy drifts off, voice fading. kennedy flops down, pulling a blanket down from the top cushions and curling under it, barely remembering to take his glasses off and set them on the floor. he falls asleep to the white noise of conversation and a flash of bright green in the corner of his vision.

(he wakes up and goes home with a new number in his phone and two boxes of hot chocolate. he leaves the third as a gift. when randy dennis calls him from outside the baltimore target a few weeks later, voice fuzzy with static, he heads over without a second thought.

“Lost?”

“yeah,” randy says, shaky. grins. the same customer-service grin the employee offered him a while ago. kennedy loser gives them - some sort of look, and it drops. “can i stay the night at your place?”

“‘course,” kennedy reassures. “i’ll even get you a key.”)

**Author's Note:**

> Lost In A Target (emotion) is me every day of my life  
> you can find me on twitter @ ghostcatboys, on tumblr @ catboydeicide, and at the crabitat !


End file.
